


I Am Become A Dead Man

by shandy_and_champagne



Category: Shadow and Bone (TV), The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Choking, Dark, Dark Alina Starkov, Depraved kinks, Disembowelment, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, dom/sub overtones who am i kidding, follow me down this dirty rabbit hole, i got carried away, maybe a bit of plot, the author hates Mal and is too poor to pay for therapy, the author hath no shame, the mcd is Mal but that's hardly a spoiler, the plot is murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shandy_and_champagne/pseuds/shandy_and_champagne
Summary: The author would like to say she hates Mal Oretsev very much.Sincerely, Willow.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77





	I Am Become A Dead Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely for my own enjoyment and is utterly deplorable, completely sadistic and peak Mal bashing. Otherwise known as free therapy. If you like Mal in any way, consider this a warning: read at your own peril, just don't come for me in the comments.  
> For the rest of you who are here for the Mal death trope and a sprinkling of darklina sexy times, I hope you like it! 
> 
> Disclaimer: everything belongs to Leigh Bardugo.

The Darkling crouched in front of Alina where she sat propped against the stone wall and took her chin in his hand forcefully.

Despite everything, the look she levelled him with was defiant, refusing to back down.

"Say it again," he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance.

He smirked, taking the opportunity to admire her lovely, flushed cheeks, tracing them with his eyes.

"I need you to repeat the words, Alina darling, exactly as you said them. I wouldn't want to do anything drastic before I know exactly what you want."

She stared him down and leaned into his grip, pushing forward until they were almost nose to nose.

"I want him dead," she hissed.

The Darkling's smile was a knife in the dim light. He pushed back against her chin, but she held firm, keeping them inches apart. He could feel her breath ghosting across his lips and he craved her with such deep intensity in that moment, he could have devoured her right there.

He wondered what she would taste like.

He let his hand slide down from her chin to her neck, putting on enough pressure that her breath caught deliciously.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," he purred, "Who is it you would like me to kill?"

The scent of him was heady. Alina could scarcely think straight, but she knew enough of her innate convictions that her next words still came out coherent, if not slightly breathless.

"I don't want _you_ to kill Malyen Oretsev," she felt the cold press of the sharp talon ring on her jugular and it made her toes _curl_. "I want to do it myself."

That smile of his widened, his eyes dark pools that fixated on her mouth, as though wanting to taste the words as they left her lips.

He dropped to one knee and guided her to lean back against the wall, following her like they were attached by a string. He leaned in and brushed his lips over her jaw, still holding her captive in his fingers.

She gasped at the contact and the feeling of his warm breath skittering over her neck. This was a different kind of collar, and it turned her core molten.

"You want to kill the tracker?" he whispered into her skin.

She knew on some level he already knew all of this, that he hadn't needed to hear her say it, but she nodded all the same.

He huffed a breath against her, a small triumphant laugh escaping him. He was so close, the heat of his body blocking out the cold, the sculpt of his shoulders caging her in. He was everywhere, and at every point of contact she felt a dizzying rush of power that made her think of other things. Like how it would feel to have him touch her with as much skin as possible.

Alina shivered at the image. 

The hand not circling her neck landed on her ankle, fingers brushing the stretch of skin between her boots and leggings. She realised belatedly that he was kneeling between her legs and she shifted beneath his hold as her core _throbbed_.

Saints, she wanted it. She wanted it so badly.

His hand drifted up her calf, torturously slow, as his tongue flicked out to lick a stripe under her jaw.

She opened her mouth to tell him to just _take_ her already, but only a breathy moan escaped.

His fingers tightened on her knee.

"How do you want to do it, _Soverennya_?"

She fought to make sense of his words through the addled haze of her lust.

"I want…" she swallowed as his fingers slowly started their ascent up the inside of her thigh. "I want to give him the Cut."

He nipped the soft spot where her shoulder met her neck.

"You can do better than that," he admonished.

His hand slid up another inch. She succumbed to the ache and let her own hands wander, one hand diving into his soft, thick hair and claws digging into his shoulder blades with her other.

"I want to burn him alive," she whispered. It was like a confession, like the words lifted a burden on her soul. A burden put there by the tracker, her childish obsession that drained her and weakened her, that wanted everything from her but nothing for her. Not like the Darkling. All _he_ wanted was power. For herself and for him. He wanted an equal, he didn't want to take, he wanted to share. 

"And then?" he asked between where he was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck above the stag collar. The sensations trickled down her body and pooled at her fingers and toes. His fingers were inches away from where she needed them, she tried to urge them closer by pressing on his back and shifting her hips forward. He didn't budge.

She growled in frustration, taking the locks of his dark hair between her fingers and yanking slightly.

He groaned.

If she wasn't already a puddle on the floor, that sound was enough to make her melt entirely. She wanted to see what other noises she could elicit from him.

"And then," she breathed, "I want to feed his entrails to the volcra."

His fingers finally brushed over the apex of her thighs and felt the dampness there. He added just enough pressure that she squirmed, desperate with wanting, yearning to feel his flesh on hers. To find that blissful release and watch his ageless features break as he found his own.

"I'll make you a necklace of his finger bones," he promised, at last lifting his head and locking eyes with her. She returned his stare with hooded eyes, too far gone in the current of desire to be capable of any more words.

And then suddenly, he stood, pulling her up onto her own feet and spinning her round, pinning her against the wall. 

He had one hand on her neck, pulling her head back to lean on his shoulder to expose the skin of her neck to his wicked mouth. But it was the other hand she zeroed in on.

It lifted up the fabric of her kefta and lightly drew his nails over the bare flesh of her lower abdomen. She jolted at the contact and another moan escaped her.

Then, before more words could be uttered, he grazed her neck with his teeth as his hand dove into her underwear. Caressing her possessively.

Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp and she clutched at the cold stone wall for dear life. His long fingers sparked an addictive mix of power and pleasure as they dragged over that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, while his mouth attacked her neck mercilessly.

He was hard against her behind and she was inconsolable, she had to have him. She had to have him right there or she would level a city with the built up tension she needed to release.

"I want…" she gasped as one finger slipped between her drenched folds, so much thicker than her own. She tried to swallow. "I want you to fuck me."

"Yeah?" he murmured against her cheek, voice several octaves lower than before.

"Yeah." 

He nudged her chin with his nose and turned her face enough that he could claim her lips with his. His finger started to move inside her, curling upwards with every stroke.

She weaved her fingers in his hair again and licked the seam of his lips, something she had thought about doing every time she laid her eyes on him. He opened to her and stroked her tongue with his own, all the while his finger was sliding in and out of her, sending pulses of sensation up her spine.

He shifted against her, his cock grinding against her back, desperate for friction. 

"Alina," he groaned against her lips. It was almost a complaint, as if he too was frustrated at all the clothes still between them. Tendrils of his darkness tickled her collar bones where her kefta and undershirt had fell open.

His finger was still moving at an agonisingly slow pace and it was already too much, but she wanted more of him, she wanted to feel him inside her, pressing against every wall, filling every crevice.

"More," she breathed into his mouth.

He didn't even hesitate before adding a second finger.

The noises she was making were obscene, almost as distracting as the wet sounds coming from where his hand disappeared between her thighs. Her knees almost buckled as the heel of his hand scraped against her clit, dragging her closer and closer to her peak.

"Oh, god," she moaned, writhing against his hand, chasing her release with reckless abandon.

His cock pressed hard against her back and he ground his hips into her, their bodies undulating in a shared rhythm. Sweat trickled down Alina's temple, running down her neck and between her aching breasts. She was so close, so close.

"Alina," he said again, seemingly incapable of forming any other word.

She kissed him ravenously as she rode his fingers, tasting the sweet and addictive flavour of him and letting it egg her on, take her higher and higher.

His terrible fingers scraped that spot inside her and his thumb circled her clit simultaneously and she was coming with a moan, long and loud. Her orgasm crested over her in waves and she let him take control of the kiss as her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost all sense of herself. It crescendoed with a deep surge of pure pleasure, heightened when he bit her lip, stars occluding her vision.

Her limbs were heavy when she came back to herself, and she realised his arm was around her waist, holding her up against him. She looked at him, relishing in the feeling of satisfaction that exuded every pore. 

His eyes were already on her, looking all at once like he wanted to fall to his knees before her and shove her against the wall to fuck her right there. She very much wanted to encourage the latter, he was still painfully hard against her and she considered what expression he would make if she kneeled before him and took him in her mouth. She'd thought about that too. She wondered if he'd moan and grab her hair, if that crease between his brows would emerge as he finished inside her. She wondered what his power would do when he came. So many questions. She wanted to answer them all.

She was startled from her explicit imaginings when he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers in a surprisingly gentle kiss. It stirred something entirely different inside her that suddenly had her feeling more vulnerable than when she was completely at the mercy of his ministrations.

Then, without breaking their eye contact, he slid his fingers out of her leggings and brought them up to his mouth. Sucking them clean.

Tasting her.

Her mouth watered at the sight. She had to have him now. She was suddenly hyper aware of how empty she was, her walls clenching around nothing.

He seemed to read her mind and gave her a wicked grin, pulling her back even closer into his chest, kissing her again.

She could taste herself on his tongue, sweet and tangy, and she was half-mad with desire, already aching for release again.

"Greedy girl," he chuckled lowly, and then stepped back, dropping his arms and leaving her cold and wanting.

She turned to glare at him, eyes skewering his smug face as he took another step back, eyes never leaving hers.

Before she could drag him back and give him a taste of his own medicine, he took her hand and pulled her along with him, looping her arm over his in a sordid imitation of the proper royal courtiers. 

"Didn't you say you had something you wanted to do first?" he reminded her.

Her frustration receded as she recalled her earlier bloodlust. It seemed he had far greater things in mind for the first time he took her than against a wall in the war room of the Little Palace.

The smirk that pulled her lips was identical to his own.

"Yes," she said, eyes alight with anticipation. "Yes, I did."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! I love to hear what you think ;)


End file.
